


sick of losing soulmates, won't be alone again

by darlingjustdont



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, because i'm just like that, but /different/, most of it is fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingjustdont/pseuds/darlingjustdont
Summary: the first time she meets harry, she makes an absolute idiot of herself. she’s a little tipsy because selena’s an awful influence with the flask hidden in her bag, and bobby pins have been jabbing her in the skull for hours.harry’s cute, that’s all. he’s in a blazer and he’s so solemn on stage and “what makes you beautiful” is herjamand she dances like there aren’t cameras watching her every move. like he can’t see her every stupid dance move.harry and taylor aren't soulmates, but they could be.





	sick of losing soulmates, won't be alone again

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! this is a very very niche fic that i've written MOSTLY for myself because flipping tropes is what i love to do. anyway this was inspired by a conversation i had with nicole years and years ago, and while it is not exactly that same plot, it is derived from it. thanks babe for the ideas <3 
> 
> also i realize the characterization is a little off, or not true to canon, but i figured that circumstances would change characterization a bit idk also i liked the way it was so. sorry.
> 
> anyway the title is taken from dodie's song of the same name. unbeta'ed because i didn't feel like it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> thanks for reading! enjoy xx

on taylor’s twentieth birthday, she springs out of bed and runs to the full length mirror hanging in her closet. stripping off her pyjamas, she twists and turns trying to see every inch of her skin. 

 

she’d dreamt about getting a soulmate until she was old enough to understand what a soulmate was. it’s impossibly romantic, the idea that there’s someone out there _destined_ for you, scrawled with a mark that matches your own. she’d trace her mama’s and ask endless questions, about her mother’s mark and her own. 

“i don’t know, taylor,” her mother always said. “no one will know anything until you turn twenty.” 

“when i wake up with one?”

“yeah, when you wake up and find a soulmate mark on your body in the morning.” 

“and then i’ll have a soulmate?” 

“and then you’ll have a soulmate,” her mother repeated solemnly, kissing her on the cheek. “but you’ll have to find him first.” 

 

there’s nothing new there, not even a slightly misshapen freckle that had appeared overnight. she’s never heard about someone not getting a soulmate mark; most everyone woke up on the morning of their twentieth birthday and had it _somewhere._ sometimes, it took a while, but they always appeared. always. 

taylor waits out the day and checks again that night, going over her body once, twice, three times. still nothing. she swallows her disappointment, her shame, and nothing shows up for years. 

 

she gets used to being coy during interviews, brushing off the endless questions about soulmates and marks and if she’s found hers. says it’s in a place covered by clothes and declines to tell people anything about a shape. it’s this whole big thing. last she’d checked there were five twitter accounts dedicated to speculating about her match. 

 

“taylor,” the interviewer says, leaning forward in his seat. he’s looks vaguely like a cheap ryan seacrest knockoff. she pastes her smile on her face and tries to look interested in whatever he’s going to say. “you’ve been spotted around with a lot of men lately.” 

tamping down the flicker of annoyance that sparks up in her, she nods. 

“yes, i have.” 

“any chance one of them’s your soulmate?” 

“maybe,” she allows, the annoyance growing stronger. it’s not a good enough answer for the interviewer; she can see the frustration flash across his face. 

“you’ve dated all those men and you’re not sure if one of them’s your soulmate? it’s a simple question, isn’t it?” 

“maybe,” she repeats through her teeth. “i’m not looking for a soulmate right now.” 

“just looking for love,” the interviewer says quickly. “isn’t that what all your songs are about?” 

she presses her lips into a smile and hopes it doesn’t look too much like a grimace. that’ll be one for the tabloids and she’d rather not have her responses analyzed and plastered across the internet. 

“isn’t that what everyone’s looking for?” she asks as breezily as she can manage, pinching her leg to ground herself. “that’s why my music is relatable, isn’t it? because we’re all just searching for love and the person who’s meant for us, in the end.”

“hmm,” he says, clearly unimpressed. she smiles blandly and hopes that he’ll drop the question. “on the subject of looking for love, we have it on very good authority that a certain mr harry styles has a bit of a crush on you. what do you say to that?” 

“well, i’m flattered.” 

“we’re going to see him in a few weeks, anything you’d like to say?” 

“um, hi?” 

“hello from taylor swift,” the interviewer says with a nod. “should be easy enough to remember.” 

she wraps up the interview and sags in her chair, taking a breath for a second before she’s pulled to any of her responsibilities. the ryan seacrest knock-off doesn’t stick around to chat. he breezes away with his phone in his hand and leaves a bitter taste in taylor’s mouth. 

she wants some gum, she wants a vanilla latte, she wants to never be asked about her soulmate ever again. it’s not her fault she’s good at writing songs about _love_ even though she’ll never get a chance at it, is it? 

and the dumbest thing-- the absolute _dumbest_ thing-- is that no one even _tries._ they stick around for a while because her mark-less body surprises them; they pretend they don’t mind but they always do, as soon as they find their match. 

taylor can’t fault them for that but one day, just one day, she’d really like to find someone who’ll _stay._

 

the first time she meets harry, she makes an absolute idiot of herself. she’s a little tipsy because selena’s an awful influence with the flask hidden in her bag, and bobby pins have been jabbing her in the skull for hours. 

harry’s cute, that’s all. he’s in a blazer and he’s so solemn on stage and “what makes you beautiful” is her _jam_ and she dances like there aren’t cameras watching her every move. like he can’t see her every stupid dance move. 

she makes her way backstage afterwards to her dressing room, three sips more of whatever selena’s drinking in her system, and teetering a little in her heels. 

“fuck this,” she mutters as she slips them off, dangling them from her fingers. she’ll be careful around here. 

she’s so busy watching her toes, she doesn’t notice when she collides into someone. she bounces off and into the doorway. 

“shit, sorry,” someone says and taylor looks up. it’s one of the boys from one direction, and harry peeking over his shoulder.

“my fault,” she answers when she can find her tongue, shrugging and pasting on a smile. “i wasn’t looking where i was going.” 

“neither was louis,” harry drawls, long and slow, and his voice is so _deep_ for such a young face. young enough to not have gotten his soulmate mark, maybe. “m’harry, by the way.” 

“i know,” she says, sticking out her hand. “i’m taylor.” 

harry grins at her and reaches around his bandmate to shake it. he lingers for just a second too long, enough for her to think maybe it was an accident.

“i know,” he echoes with a shit-eating expression. louis is clearly trying not to roll his eyes and is not doing a very good job of it. 

“it was a pleasure,” louis says sharply, “but we’ve got stuff to do. right, harry?” 

“right.” 

“yeah, course. i was just…” she waves the hand with her shoes in the direction of her dressing room and shrugs. “nice to meet you.”

harry catches her eyes and something in her hitches, like she’s just lost her breath. he waves a little and follows louis back into the depths of backstage, tipping his chin over his shoulder to look at her again before louis pulls his attention away. taylor watches until they’re out of sight and then pushes her door open. 

 

justin’s house is everything taylor hates about l.a. she doesn’t tell him that, of course, but it’s so uppity and pop star. she wants to bake in his kitchen until it looks like someone actually lives there, scuff up the walls with dirty hands so they’re not as blindingly white, run her nails over the bannister until it’s scratched and tells a story. 

instead, she lies on the carpet with her heels skidding idly over the fluffy surface and selena kicking gently at her leg from the sofa. justin drops on the seat heavily, handing selena a bottle that she drinks from without looking. handing it down, taylor does the same. 

“ugh,” she says when it goes down, scrunching her face up. “this is straight vodka. and not even good vodka at that.” 

“yeah,” justin says with a shrug. he arches an eyebrow and snags it back. “is there a problem with that?” 

“we’re famous, figured we can afford something a little better.” 

selena laughs, throaty and full, and presses her cold toes to taylor’s knee. 

“that’s for when we’re being classy. tonight we’re going to get wasted like the teenagers we never were. it’s a sleepover.” 

“s’only a sleepover if we paint each other’s nails. you up for it, justin?”

“hell, nah,” justin scoffs and taylor pushes away the flicker of dislike that goes through her. “you girls can do that.” 

“ooh, I know,” selena says, sitting up and giggling. “we can play marry, fuck, kill. you do that at sleepovers, don’t you?” 

“sure,” taylor says, pinching the bridge of her nose. there’s no _way_ this could go wrong. she reaches for the vodka again and takes a long swig as selena turns to justin. 

“rihanna, j-lo, scarlett johansson,” she rattles off. personally, taylor thinks a little strange that selena’s asking her boyfriend to rate other women in front of her, but whatever. it’s their relationship, no matter what she feels about it. 

she doesn’t listen to justin’s answer, too focused on the feeling of the carpet under her feet. it’s so soft and running her heels over it gets methodological, almost. hypnotizing. 

“tay?” selena asks and it snaps her back to the present. 

“yeah?” 

“your turn.”

“already?” she quips and props herself up on her elbows with a sigh. “go ahead, i guess.” 

“fuck, marry, kill: one direction edition,” justin says after a pause and it takes a moment for it to sink it. 

“not fair,” she complains and drops to her back again. “you’re friends with all of them. you’re gonna tell them what i said.” 

“nah, i won’t. i’m not that much of an asshole.” 

taylor doesn’t say anything to that, just breathes out a long sigh. “fine. kill louis,” she says, thinking about the sharp way he’d talked to her at the kid’s choice awards. “ummm, date liam. he seems sweet.” 

“solid answers,” selena approves, laughing. “now who are you gonna fuck?” 

“ugh, i guess, um. i guess i’d fuck harry,” she says and ignores twist her stomach gives at the thought. 

“ _harry?_ ” justin says. “of all of them, _harry?”_

“shut up, you know he’s hot.” 

“just your type, isn’t he tay?” says selena and she’s still laughing, all wrapped up in an oversized sweater and flushed from the alcohol. “tall and young and green eyes.” 

“you don’t know my type.” 

“sure i do,” she shoots back, nudging her foot against taylor’s. “i’m your best friend, of course i do. and harry’s just it.” 

“i could tell him if you wanted. set you up, you know,” justin says with a smile and taylor rolls her eyes. 

“you promised you wouldn’t tell him,” she whines, grabbing for the bottle. she levels a glare at him as she sits up and wipes the back of her mouth with a hand after drinking. justin holds his hands up. 

“i won’t. i was just offering.” 

his expression is a little too mischievous for taylor to believe that, but she doesn’t argue with it. she just takes another sip and hands over the bottle, scouring her brain for three guys to make selena choose from. 

 

“can i tell you a secret,” selena says later, when the living room is dark and justin’s snoring softly, slumped against the arm of the sofa. taylor blinks a little more awake and tips her head to see her best friend. she’s just a silhouette in the dimness with the moon’s light shining a halo around her. taylor blinks. 

“yeah,” she answers quietly, so not to break the night too much. 

“we’re not soulmates, me and justin.” 

“what?” 

“he thinks we are, but we’re not. the mark he thinks is ours was just a coincidence. it’s a heart that i got tattooed a while ago and justin’s got one similar enough that he thinks it matches.” 

“what’s your real one, then?” 

“a bunch of circles on my ribs. they’re pretty.” 

taylor looks back up the ceiling, a lump suddenly in her throat. “that’s nice,” she says. “i didn’t know.” 

“you’re the only one,” selena tells her. “and you can’t tell justin.” 

“are you just going to lead him along until one of you finds your match?” taylor asks, desperately trying to keep the anger out of her tone. 

“probably.” 

“that’s… that’s a shitty thing to do.” 

“why? we’re having fun and he won’t care. he’ll find his soulmate and i’ll find mine and it’ll be fine. and if we don’t, then he doesn’t have to know.” selena tips her her head towards taylor and does her best to shrug. taylor swallows around the lump in her throat. 

“i won’t tell you what to do, but i think it’s a bad idea.” 

selena flaps a hand. “whatever, tay.” 

shaking her head, taylor gets to her feet, muttering something about a bathroom break. there’s a weird mix of anger and envy shifting through her body and she knows it’s mostly the vodka, but god does it burn. 

selena’s asleep by the time taylor calms down enough to go back, so taylor makes her way to a guest room and crashes on the bed, desperately and completely alone. 

 

she meets harry again at another award show. one direction are performing, because of course they are, and she watches him. as much as she tries to look at the other boys as well, her eyes keep slipping to him on the end, adorably serious about the whole thing. she swears he catches sight of her when the house lights go up. 

 

“we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she hears someone drawl behind her. it’s harry, leaned against the doorway and looking far too cool for his eighteen years of age. she might’ve read his wikipedia entry. and maybe a lot of articles about him. she wanted to know what she was dealing with. 

“where’s your friend?”

harry looks confused for a moment, eyebrows furrowing together before smoothing out again. “oh, louis? probably with eleanor somewhere.” 

“eleanor?” 

“his girlfriend. soulmate, now.” 

“i thought…” 

harry rolls his eyes and taylor suspects she’s said something wrong. 

“everyone _thinks,”_ he says, a tiny bit sharply. “no, he’s got eleanor. he’s not gay.” 

“that’s not-- i thought he was still eighteen? aren’t you all teenagers?” 

“oh.” harry’s blushing deep red, probably down to his toes, and taylor’s incredibly enamoured by it, despite herself. “we’re not children. m’nineteen.” 

nineteen seems so long ago to her, ages. millennia. she can’t quite believe harry’s only that old, but at the same time she can’t believe he’s not hundreds of years younger than she is. he seems old, or to have an old soul maybe. 

she doesn’t argue the point.

“louis is twenty one and eleanor’s twenty, so they’ve had their marks for a while. triangles.” 

“that’s nice.” 

harry looks at her, really looks at her, enough for taylor to shift uncomfortably. 

“your mark’s a secret.” it’s not phrased as a question but she can still feel the inquiry there. 

“yeah.” 

“I like that. it’s private, yeah? personal.” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming. “it’s not on your arse, is it?” 

she laughs in spite of herself. “no. no, it’s most definitely not… on my arse.” 

someone’s yelling out in the hallway and harry crooks his head toward the door just as someone bowls in. it’s niall, or at least taylor thinks his name is niall, and he looks startled to see her there too. 

“there you are, harry,” maybe-niall says in a thick irish accent. it’s cute. “paul’s been looking for you.” 

“it’s not me he should be worrying about,” harry complains and niall laughs, shaking his head fondly. “is it anything important?” 

“we’re supposed to be leaving,” niall says, sending taylor an apologetic look. “we’re to get to the after parties and mingle.” 

“right. right, yeah. i’ll be there in a moment, okay?” 

niall nods and leaves with a wave in her direction, gone almost as quickly as he came. harry doesn’t speak, just looks at her. she stares back. 

“i’ll be at the after party too,” she says after a moment’s silence. “well, one of them. maybe more.” 

“i’ll find you,” harry tells her. “if we’re there, i’ll find you.” 

 

he finds her. 

 

he finds her again a few weeks later, bumps into her after she finishes taping an interview with nick grimshaw. 

“what are you doing here?” she asks. he shrugs. 

“i was bored. nick’s a good laugh.” 

she cranes her head towards the studio. “he is something.” 

there’s a strange sort of smile playing on his face, nervous-like. he jams his hands into his pockets and tips forward onto his toes.

“are you… are you doing anything after this?” 

“what do you mean?” 

“now. what are you doing now?” he clarifies and her eyebrow goes up, all by itself. 

“it’s ten o’clock at night.” 

“are you hungry?” 

she is, all of a sudden. harry smirks like he knows and she’s following him out the building, almost before she can think. the streets are empty, thank god, so they’re not mobbed or photographed. it’s nice, almost like they’re normal people. 

in a different life, they’d be university students or something. this would be their first date and they might be going to a movie, he might’ve held her hand during the scary bits. she’d have kissed him on her doorstep, mouths still greasy with butter, and maybe even let him inside. 

but in this life, they just walk side by side, elbows jostling as they track down a kebab stand. it’s good; she hasn’t had a kebab in forever. harry pays, pulling a few bills out of his pocket, and they sit together on a park bench, tucked away from the road. 

“taylor,” harry says after a few minutes. “tell me about yourself.” 

she blinks. “what could i possibly tell you that you don’t already know?” 

“anything. everything.” 

“everyone already knows everything. that’s the point of being famous, isn’t it?” 

harry hums, taking a bite of his kebab. “tell me something no one else knows about you.” 

it’s such a dangerously innocent request that it makes her pause. her first thought is to tell him about her soulmark, let her deepest, darkest secret out into the open. it startles her that she would be so willing with him.

“um. i don’t like brussel sprouts.” 

“noted,” he says slowly. “i won’t feed you them, then.” 

“your turn,” she tells him, ignoring the jump her stomach gives at the thought of future dates. he waits another few seconds to talk; she gets the feeling he doesn’t do many things quickly, likes to take his time. she likes that about him. 

“i have four nipples.” 

“i think i knew that already. try something else.” 

“i’d rather have a cat any day over a dog,” he replies with a laugh. “dogs are wonderful, but nothing beats a cat curled on your lap. don’t tell grimmy, he’d be devastated.” 

“me too. dogs are too… big.” 

“profound, that. tell me something else.” 

“i always wanted a sister.” 

“i love babies.” 

“spicy things make me hiccup.” 

“i don’t believe in soulmates.” 

she stops mid-word and just stares at him. he takes a bite nonchalantly, like he hadn’t just said something ridiculous. 

“what do you mean you don’t believe in soulmates?” 

“i just don’t.” 

“what about-- the tattoos?” 

he shrugs, balling up the wrapper and brushing his hands over his pants. “i don’t like the idea that only one person is right for you. what if i fall in love with a lot of people?” 

“yeah, but nothing’s as wonderful as _soulmate_ love.” 

“is it worth any less because they’re not my soulmate?” he asks, eyebrows pulling down into a frown. “does that mean i didn’t love them as much?” 

“no, it’s just--” she cuts herself off, unable to verbalize what she wants to say. it makes her angry, a bit, that harry doesn’t believe in soulmates and yet he still will get a mark on his body, while she lives alone. “it’s so romantic.” 

“nah. getting to choose who you love, that’s dead romantic.” 

she rolls her eyes, nudging him in the side. “i think you’re a bit of an idiot, personally.” 

“you’re not the first,” harry says with a bright smile. “niall tells me that _regularly_.” 

“well then. he’s smart, isn’t he?” 

“very.” 

 

in hindsight, she should’ve known telling ed about her crush was a bad idea. ed’s a meddler at heart, a romantic, and she shouldn’t have been surprised when she walked into his london flat to find harry sprawled out on the sofa. he’s talking animatedly with someone, hasn’t noticed her yet, so she takes the chance to level a glance at ed. 

“edward.” 

“taylor,” ed parrots back. “is something wrong?” 

“you’re a terrible matchmaker.” 

“i don’t know what you’re saying. i was writing with the boys earlier today and that party just flowed into this one.” 

she might have believed it, if not for the tiny smirk on his face. the rest of one direction is here too; she can hear louis’ loud voice from the kitchen. 

“weird that they’re here too.” 

“well, i couldn’t have just invited harry. think of it like you’re meeting the family.” 

“we’ve already met,” she complains. “louis hated me.” 

ed laughs, tipping his head back. he smells like beer, just a little. 

“tommo’s a little brat, but a good bloke. protective, though,” he says, fond. “fancies himself their older brother. liam’s the dad, zayn’s the mum, niall’s the baby. dunno why, since harry’s technically the youngest.” 

they watch as liam comes over and pets at harry’s head. harry doesn’t even flinch, just keeps talking to zayn. 

“guess he’s their pet, then,” she comments and ed laughs again. 

“a proper little family. piss off and get something to drink, please. i can’t pull while i’m standing next to taylor fucking swift.” 

“who are you trying to pull?” 

ed just wags his eyebrows at her, pushing her in the direction of the kitchen. it’s not so crowded in there and she ignores the talking people to pour herself out some rum. there’s no wine, she checked, so this will have to do. 

“no fruit juice here,” louis says snidely, coming up next to her. he pours out a shot of vodka and drinks it down straight. “you gotta drink.” 

“ed keeps cranberry juice in the fridge,” she replies and raises her eyebrow over her glass. “but what does it matter to you what i drink?” 

he just grunts and pours out another shot, this one of tequila. he hands it to her with a lime and a salt packet. 

“is this like an initiation thing?” she says lightly and he laughs, eyes bright. 

“nah, i just want to see what a drunk taylor swift looks life. there’s nothing you need to be initiated into.” 

she clinks her shot glass against his. “cheers, then.” 

it’s been a long time since she’d drank tequila. it’s not her favourite but she keeps her face as straight as she can while louis watches. 

“you would think ed would be rich enough to buy good alcohol,” he mutters and hands her his glass. “cheers, swift.” 

harry tumbles in right after louis leaves with niall on his heels. she’s a bit tipsy from the drinks and can’t quite keep the smile from spreading across her face. 

“taylor!” harry cheers, and niall echoes him. “i didn’t-- i didn’t know you were gonna be here.” 

“ed invited me.” 

“ed’s the _best_ , isn’t he? a wonderful man. can you hand me that beer?” 

“you don’t like beer, hazza,” niall says patiently. he looks wasted, but not quite as much as harry. “hand him the rum. the mango kind.” 

harry sighs dreamily. “ah, mango.” 

“you and your fruit,” niall teases. “he always needs it when we go on tour. he acts like an old man and he’s a teenager.” 

taylor winces at the word but neither of the boys notice. harry scoffs, shooting a tiny glance towards taylor, and then makes a shooing motion. “go bother someone else. i’m too drunk to be treated like this.” 

niall chortles and does what he’s told, wandering off to talk to the people by the oven. harry waits a beat and then turns toward her, his face as bright as a lighthouse. she feels a bit like she’s a moth.

“what’s your favourite part of songwriting?” he asks and it’s so out of the blue that she pauses. 

“what?” 

“songwriting. what do you love about it? you’re brilliant, obviously, but why do you keep on doing it?” 

“oh. um, i like the way it puts emotion into words? it, like, captures it. when you hear a song, you remember what you were feeling when you first heard it.” 

“that’s so beautiful.” 

“thanks.” 

he steps a tiny bit closer, close enough that taylor can feel the heat of his body. he doesn’t seem too wasted from here, more tipsy like she’s tipsy. 

“you ask the weirdest questions,” she says, so quietly. he shrugs. 

“i like knowing things.” 

“i like that.” 

he’s looking at her, so, so close together. she could kiss him. she could tip forward on her feet and kiss him right here, in ed’s kitchen. 

she almost does, too, but then he starts talking. 

“do you… do you want to go outside? get some air?” 

“uh, yeah. okay.” 

he takes her hand and leads her through the crowd that’s become a party, pulls her outside onto the deck. louis is there, smoking, but he doesn’t notice them. he’s too wrapped up in a pretty brunette taylor assumes is his soulmate. they’re trading kisses in between louis’ drags on a cigarette, and the fondness makes taylor ache. 

god. why can’t she have that. 

when she looks to harry, he’s staring at her again, that lighthouse look on his face again. she can feel herself go pink under the attention. 

“what?” 

“nothing.” 

going pinker, she pushes her hair behind her ear. “did you really need air.” 

“no. i just didn’t want to kiss you with an audience.” 

“wait, what?” 

“is it okay if i kiss you? i thought i read it right, but i could be wrong--” 

she leans in and kisses the end of the sentence out of his mouth, pressing up against his front. he lets out a tiny squeak of surprise but recovers fast, pulling her in even closer and catching her jaw in his hands. he thumbs along the line down to her chin as they kiss, tilting her head into the perfect position. 

it’s--god. it’s perfect. taylor loses herself in it, loses herself in the taste of his lips and the feeling of his hair against her hands. he startles when she slips her fingers under his hem, stroking at his back, and then hums his happiness, deepens the kiss. 

it’s slow and drugging and her head’s spinning from it all, sparks fizzing down to her toes and settling comfortably in her stomach. she wants to touch him, taste every inch of his body, never stop kissing him. 

“fuck,’ he says when they break apart, a little breathless. “fuck, i’ve wanted to do that for so long.” 

it makes her laugh despite herself. he sounds like she’s the best thing in the world to happen to him and that’s intoxicating. she twists their hands together and kisses him on the cheek, right over his cheekbone. 

“missed my mouth,” he tells her lightly and it’s so cliche that she groans. she does as he says anyway. 

 

“do you wanna… do you want to go upstairs?” he asks, ages later, when their lips are getting chapped and she’s still not had her fill. “there’s a guest room.” 

“mhm,” she mumbles against the skin of his throat, smothering her smile when she feels him swallow. 

“there’s a bed, too. you know, if you want to…” 

“want to what?” 

he squeezes her waist and she takes pity on him, stepping away so they can walk. “alright, then. let’s go find a bed.” 

it takes a moment or three to make their way through the dwindling party, to find an unoccupied room. taylor’s hands shake when she twists the door handle but harry’s kissing at her neck, so she can’t be blamed. he pushes her up against the door when they finally get in and get it closed, crowding against her so she can feel every line of his body. 

his hands are tugging at her shirt so she lets him pull it off, shivers when he smoothes his hand against her belly and up towards her bra. he’s still kissing her jaw; she’s going to have a bruise there in the morning but she doesn’t care. 

“god,” she breathes, fumbling with his belt. “get this off.” 

he leans away, just a bit, so she can finally unbuckle it, and slips her hand under the waistband. he gasps when she wraps her fingers around his dick, drops his head onto her shoulder and breathes. 

“you’re big,” she says, surprised, and he huffs out a laugh. 

“you’re fookin’ gorgeous.” 

she pulls her hand out and pushes at his chest. “c’mon.” 

“what?” 

“go lay down, c’mon. i’m not going to get each other off five feet from the bed like a teenager. c’mon, take your shirt off.” 

“hey,” he whines but shuts up when she steps out of her pants, laying on the duvet in just her underwear. thank _god_ she wore a cute pair. “fuck.” 

“you’ve got to take your pants off first.” 

“trousers,” he corrects, pushing down his jeans. 

“those too,” she says and crooks a finger. “hurry up, or i’ll have to do this all by myself.” 

“hmm, maybe another day. that’d be hot.” 

“there won’t be another day if you don’t _get over here._ ” 

“bossy,” he says with a shit-eating grin, but he’s on top of her in a breath, holding himself up on his arms. “hi.” 

“hi,” she tells him back, a bit nonsensically. “your shirt’s still on.” 

“take it off for me.” he rolls them over so she’s straddling him, looking smug as fuck. she gives him a look and fists her hand in his hem, pulling it up his chest and over his head. she follows it with her mouth, trailing kisses up from his bellybutton to his nipples. he arches his back when her lips close around one, kicking his foot out.

“minx,” he hisses and tightens his grip on her hips. she switches to the other nipple and tugs at it with her teeth. soothing it with her tongue, she makes her way back down his body again until she reaches his underwear. 

“can i?” she says, sticking two fingers under the waist. he just nods, dumb, and she inches them down his thighs. he cries out when she takes his dick in her mouth, fingers digging into the bedsheets. the veins of his neck are sticking out and he’s flushed down his neck, and it’s so fucking good. she hasn’t had a hookup like this in so long. 

he pulls on her hair when he’s close and she finishes him off with her hand, kissing him into the pillow. he looks a little dazed after he comes, like he can’t quite believe what’s happened, but remembers his manners after a moment. 

“my turn,” he says, flipping them again. she’s tense with excitement and anticipation, and every touch of his fingers feels like fire running up her veins. 

“oh, fuck,” she says when he strokes over her underwear, pushes it aside. he’s got a sleepy grin on his face that’s honestly unbearable, so she closes her eyes and wraps her hand around the headboard. “fuck.” 

she’s not sure where or when he learned how to eat a girl out so well, but he’s fucking _magic_ at it, earnest and careful, and so, so gentle. it doesn’t take long until she’s crying out too, shaking apart and coming back to his smug expression. 

“you’re terrible,” she mumbles as he fetches a washcloth, wiping himself down. “absolutely terrible.” 

“you’ve still got your bra on,” he accuses. “i’ve been cheated.” 

“we’ve got to leave something for next time,” she tells him sleepily but unhooks it anyway. she hates sleeping in bras, hates being confined by them. 

his eyes go wide when she pulls it off and drops it on the side of the bed. she didn’t think he could go again so soon but with the hungry look on his face, he might. 

“you look like you’ve never seen breasts before.” 

“it’s just--” he makes a nonsense gesture with his hands. “tits.” 

“boys,” she scoffs, squirming when he pinches her side. “only interested in my tits.” 

“and your mouth,” he offers and kisses her before she can argue. it’s barely kissing; they’re smiling too widely to do much of anything, but it’s _nice._ it’s comfortable and sweet and hot and she might be falling for him. 

 

“so,” selena says, sticking her finger in the bowl of cookie dough. “you and harry.”

“me and harry,” taylor echoes and frowns at selena’s hand. selena sticks a dollop of the dough in her mouth and gives taylor an apologetic smile. “what about it?” 

“you seem awfully close.” 

taylor shrugs and lays out spoonfuls of dough onto the baking sheet, round little mounds that she tries to make as perfect as possible. “he’s nice.” 

“mmm. _nice_.”

selena laughs, sneaking another fingerful of cookie dough. “do i have to drag it out of you?” 

taylor sighs and fights back a smile, pushes the tray into the warm oven. she can practically feel selena’s frustration. 

“we’ve hooked up a few times.” 

“there it is,” selena crows. “tell me _everything._ ” 

“you’re so weird.” 

“it’s not every day your best friend hooks up with harry fuckin’ styles. 

“um, excuse me. you’re dating _justin bieber._ ” 

selena laughs and taylor does too, 

 

it’s not long before they’re actually dating, as in going out on dates and texting each other at all hours and she slips when she’s talking to her mom and calls harry her boyfriend. she likes how it sounds, likes the way the label fits harry into her life. harry could be her boyfriend forever and she would be happy. 

 

their first public date is out in new york. she’s got her fox sweater on and he’s bundled up in a nice coat, both their cheeks pink. it’s fun and they meet up with friends and she’s so, so conscious of all the paparazzi clicking their cameras a few feet away. 

“you sure you want to do this?” she had asked before they went out walking in central park. harry had shrugged, mouth tipping up in a smirk. 

“might as well.” 

he doesn’t hold her hand, but they walk close enough so their elbows brush. it’s comfortable and lovely. she almost forgets about the cameras. 

“want some ice cream?” he murmurs, nodding at the restaurant to their left. it’s too cold for ice cream but suddenly she’s craving it so she veers off toward the door. she orders mint and he orders chocolate and sneaks licks off her cone when he thinks she’s not looking. 

“you could just ask,” she says, giggling, and he flashes a smile. 

“what’s the fun in that?” 

“fair,” she tells him and nicks a spoonful of ice cream as well. he gives her a dirty look. 

“oi,” he complains and she elbows him in the side. 

“you can’t complain when you’ve been eating mine! that’s hypocritical!” 

“i’m a growing boy. you can’t take my food.” 

she manages to scoop out another spoonful just to spite him, laughing as she sticks it into her mouth. his eyes drop to her lips, just for a second, and she rolls his eyes. 

“can’t keep it in your pants, can you?” 

“it’s not my fault if you’re just so gorgeous,” he says as smoothly as he can. it just makes her shake her head. 

“you’re awful and i’m breaking up with you.” 

“you wouldn’t dare. you love me too much.” 

taylor _can’t_ , not when they’re gonna plaster these pictures all over the internet. she presses her lips together and glances back at her half-melted mint ice cream, licks at the cone.

harry’s got the faintest of hurt expressions on his face when she manages to glance back up, surprised at the silence. he’s working at his own cone, almost done with it, and she sneaks a hand into his, squeezing. he squeezes back but it’s half-hearted. 

by the time they finish and meet up with karlie, taylor’s almost forgotten about the entire thing. harry’s back to his normal joking self, teasing them both about how alike they look. 

“i don’t even know who i’m dating. are you taylor, or are you karlie?” he asks, squinting at taylor. “no, you’re taylor. i’d recognize those eyes anywhere.” 

“you are the biggest flirt,” karlie tells him, swinging her legs over taylor’s lap. taylor settles her hands on karlie’s shin and nudges at harry’s ankle with her toe. “that’s so cheesy.” 

“as cheesy as pizza,” taylor agrees with a wink. he tips his head back and laughs, easy as anything. it’s a good moment, comfortable and soft, and she basks in it like she would in the sunshine. 

 

that’s the last quiet moment they have for a while. one direction goes on tour and she starts writing her album in between her own tour, and it’s a lot. they’re at opposite sides of the globe more often than not. 

harry facetimes her when she’s just waking up and he’s just come off stage. he’s still breathing heavily from the adrenaline, sweat curling the hair at his temples, and there’s a manic sort of energy about him. 

“you look like you could kill someone,” she comments and he grins. 

“i feel fucking _fantastic._ god, there’s nothing quite like performing, is there? i fucking love it.” 

he’s talking faster than she’s ever heard him speak--which is still not very fast--and he’s alight. it’s magical, really, and taylor knows that this is what he was meant to do. 

“you look like you’re on top of the world.” 

“i am. fuck. i wish you were here.” 

she laughs and rubs at her eyes, surveying him through the phone screen. “why?” 

“m’all worked up,” he admits, a blush starting on the tops of his cheeks. “and i miss you.” 

“you’re shameless,” she says, watching the blush spread. “well, go on. show me.” 

he groans, low in his throat, and pulls at his lip. 

“you can’t just _say_ that. i’m in _public._ ” 

“you love it,” she tells him and he’s red by now, but he’s still smiling. “i won’t embarrass you anymore, though.”

he opens his mouth to respond and gets distracted by someone speaking off screen. it’s too fuzzy for taylor to make out the voice, but harry’s listening with rapt attention, nodding and shoving a hand through his hair. it’s only for about a minute, but taylor feels left out somehow, like she’s witnessing a moment she shouldn’t be. 

“yeah, okay,” harry says, waving, and then turns back to the phone. he’s apologetic. “sorry, tay. i’ve got to go, but i’ll talk to you later, yeah? love you.” 

the screen goes blank before taylor can say anything in response. she holds her phone for a few seconds, wondering if harry will text a real goodbye, but it stays quiet. it doesn’t matter anyway, she should be getting ready for the day. 

still, she feels awfully off-kilter all day and she can’t seem to shake it. she sends him a text about three in the afternoon and just says _miss you, sweet dreams_ because she can’t really put into words what feels so wrong. she just misses him. 

 

selena texts her a few weeks before the winter break in taylor’s tour. _me and justin are going up to a cabin for a week, if you wanna come_

_bring harry_

_it’ll be fun_

 

harry’s down for it. his eyes light up when taylor tells him about selena’s text and he’s nodding before she even finishes the sentence. she can read his excitement even through the phone. it’s the first time they’ve facetimed in weeks. 

“sounds sick,” he says when she’s done. “plus it’ll make niall so jealous. he used to be bieber’s biggest fanboy.” 

taylor can’t help but make a face; she’s not quite sure still how he’s kept all his fans, with all that he’s been doing recently. she keeps hoping he’ll mellow out. 

“is that a yes, then? selena was thinking the first week of january.” 

“yeah. yeah, i think i can manage that. i’ll ask paul if there’s anything going on, but i think it’s possible. tell her i’m going.” 

“okay.” 

“okay,” he echoes. his smile’s softened by the weak internet connection and she gets the urge to touch his face, even if it’s just on a screen. god, she misses him. 

“run away with me,” she says quietly. “we can live in a cabin in the woods.” 

taylor doesn’t know if she would want that forever, or even if she will want it in five minutes, but in that moment it sounds like the best idea in the world. 

harry goes even softer, if possible. 

“can’t do that, love. not yet, anyway. but we can pretend for a week.” 

it’s an okay substitute. 

 

the combination of the four of them is weird. justin and harry are two very different people, and taylor feels a little like she’s watching oil and water trying to mix. still, harry’s pleasant and justin is nice, so it works out. 

harry and taylor mostly just laze around all day. justin drags selena to go skiing or something else, but harry doesn’t seem interested in that. they marathon holiday movies and stuff their mouths with chips. harry tucks his cold feet under her thighs and for a while, it seems like they’re normal. it feels like they’re the only ones in the world and they’re normal. 

 

“my birthday’s coming up,” he says lazily, pillowing his head on her thigh. they’re _supposed_ to be watching a baking show, but harry’s too busy talking. smiling, she fiddles with a strand of his hair. “it’s in february.” 

“it’s not even january yet, babe.” 

“yeah, but it’s the first of february. so it’s basically next month.” 

her smile gets bigger. “are you hinting? do you want me to do something.” 

“not particularly,” he says. she touches the curve of his lips, wrinkling her nose when he snaps at the her finger. “it’s my twentieth.” 

“oh?” she says and he looks at her, slightly nervous. she knows what the twentieth birthday means. “your soulmate birthday.” 

he shrugs as best he can. “don’t care about it. i’ll be happy if i don’t get one, honestly.” 

her fingers still. “you think so?” 

“mhmm.” 

a weird feeling bubbles up in her chest, the one that always appears when he talks about the marks so casually. it feels a lot like envy, a lot like shame. 

“you don’t mean that.” 

“i do,” he answers, cracking an eye open. “i really do.” 

“you don’t,” she says, shifting restlessly. she feels trapped, pinned down by his head and the weight of his words. “you really, really don’t.” 

“what’s so bad about not wanting a soulmate, taylor?” 

“you don’t understand. not getting a mark on your birthday-- it’s shit. it’s the shittiest feeling in the world. and you just are _wishing for it to happen._ god, are you mental?” 

“what’s going on with you? are you alright?” 

“i’m-- fine,” she tells him and pushes at his head. “i’m fine, i just need to get up.” 

he lifts his head enough for her to wiggle out and she crosses over to the kitchen, fills a glass with water. 

“taylor, you’re acting weird,” harry says from behind her. she fills the empty glass again. naturally, justin and selena choose that second to clamber in with all their stuff. they’re flushed from the snow and laughing. 

“i slid down the mountain on my ass,” selena says, laughing. “i tripped and fell and couldn’t get back up.” 

“it was fucking hilarious,” says justin and wraps his arm around her waist. she catches sight of taylor and sobers up immediately, pushing at justin’s chest. 

“actually, i think i’m gonna go shower. babe, do you want to join me?” 

“um--”

“no, justin. let’s go,” selena insists and pushes him out the door. harry and taylor look at each other until the sound of steps fades away. 

“taylor--” 

“i don’t have a mark,” she interrupts, all in a rush. there’s a few heartbeats of silence as harry’s face goes through too many emotions for her to recognize. 

“what?” 

“a soulmark. i don’t have one.” 

“i don’t… how?” 

she shrugs, setting her glass down on the counter. “don’t know. i woke up on my twentieth and it wasn’t there. i kept hoping it would appear but it… never did.” 

“that’s impossible.” 

she lets out a bitter laugh, one she can’t help but making, and whirls around. 

“it’s not so romantic now that you’re facing it, is it?” 

a strange expression crosses over his face, too quickly for her to read, and he shakes his head. “i think it’s lovely. _you’re_ lovely.” 

she laughs again. “i’m broken. there’s something wrong with me.” 

“you’re not broken.” 

“easy for you to say.”

“you’re not. soulmates are bullshit anyway.” 

“everyone says that until they get their mark, and then find their soulmate,” she says blankly. “everyone acts like it doesn’t matter, but it does. ultimately, it does and everyone leaves.” 

harry looks at her, impossibly sad. that’s another part of the awfulness of it all, the pity. she can’t stand the pity. 

“stop staring at me like that.” 

“how could anyone not fall in love with you?” he tells her softly and it’s those gentle words that almost make her cry. after everything tonight, that’s what makes her want to break. 

he crosses over to her and puts his hand on her cheek, thumbing at the cheekbone. she turns into it despite herself, seeking the comfort. he pulls her into a hug and strokes down his back. she’s not crying, not quite, but she feels fragile, somehow. she presses her cheek to his chest and listens to the calming beat of his heart. 

she’s not sure how long they stand there in the middle of the kitchen, the sunshine fading outside, and his hands so gentle on her skin. a half-hour, maybe, or more. they stand until her body settles, until she doesn’t feel like she’s going to shake out of her bones, until she feels well and truly _loved_ for once in her life. 

 

later, when they’re tucked into bed and she’s so close to sleeping, harry speaks. 

“i won’t leave you. i couldn’t.” 

it makes her heart break because she knows, in the end, he will. everyone always does. 

 

harry flips his snowmobile and has to get stitches on his chin because he is the most uncoordinated person taylor’s ever met. she holds his hand through it. 

“don’t worry, it didn’t mess up your pretty face,” she teases as he tries to frown. “it makes you look more rugged.” 

“stop making fun of me,” he complains. “i’m going to get stitches. it hurts.” 

“oh, poor baby.” 

that makes him laugh and then wince as he pulls at the cut. “christ, that stings.”

“i could kiss it better?” taylor offers and gets a dirty look from one of the paramedics. harry rolls his eyes and offers his cheek instead. she presses her lip to his cheekbone and laughs when he twists his head to catch her on the lips. 

 

they celebrate harry’s twentieth with a loud group of friends taylor’s not quite familiar with but harry loves-- nick grimshaw and alexa chung and lou teasdale and someone and someone and someone else. she tries to keep the names straight in her mind but it’s dark and she’s a little drunk and a lot terrified. 

harry refused to look for his soulmate mark this morning. she woke up with a quiet sort of sadness, waiting for the moment harry would wake up. to her surprise, instead of tearing off his clothes and examining himself, he had just kissed her sleepily. 

the morning had progressed as normal and it made her uneasy, like she was going to explode. she was never one to peel off a bandaid carefully. 

the alcohol mellows her out at dinner, a little bit, and she even finds herself singing along to the awful karaoke nick is currently performing. 

“he really can’t sing,” she says with a giggle, mouth pressed up against harry’s ear. harry laughs, shaking his head. his hair tickles her nose. 

“absolutely terrible,” he shouts back. it’s full of fondness, love. maybe nick is harry’s soulmate. the thought’s bitter, coating her throat until it’s too hard to breathe. 

“sorry,” she mumbles and pushes her way out of the booth, finds a back door to the outside. it’s a disgusting alleyway, grimy and grungy and dark, but the air’s clear and the music is muted. she can breathe here. 

it’s no surprise that harry spills out after her, a few minutes later. it’s almost too much, his presence, and she closes her eyes against the light of the club. 

“taylor, what’s wrong?” 

he’s asked her that so many times recently. god, why can’t she be normal. 

“nothing. tired. drunk.” 

“taylor.” 

“you turned twenty today.” 

“i did.” 

“so where’s your mark?” 

“dunno. haven’t checked.” 

she opens her eyes to look at him. “why not?” 

he frowns, flipping his hair out of his eyes and then shoving his hand into his pocket. “because i don’t care. my soulmate is whoever i want it to be, and i want it to be you.” 

she laughs, she can’t help herself, and his frown gets bigger. 

“you can’t mean that. _soulmates,_ harry. someone is perfect for you and you’re just going to ignore it? that’s so-- that’s so selfish.” 

“it’s not selfish,” he says stubbornly, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “and i don’t care. my soulmate can handle it. it’s you i… i love.” 

“that’s bullshit.” 

“would you just believe me, for once? i know you’ve been hurt by people in the past, but i’m not going to leave you, taylor. i _won’t._ ” 

she looks at him, silhouetted against the club with a fierce expression, twenty years old and ready to take on the world. it’s his birthday. she lets it go. 

“okay,” she breathes, trying to believe it for a minute. “okay.” 

he smiles and she can’t help but echo it, grinning at each other like two idiots. stretching his hand out, he brings her in close. 

“c’mon. i think nick’s queued up some britney spears.” 

“oh god,” she replies. “he’s gonna butcher it.” 

“mm, you’ll have to perform so everyone’s ears are saved.” 

“i’m not going to sing.” 

“too late, i’ve already signed you up,” he sings as they find their way back to the booth. nick is indeed butchering britney spears and no one notices when they sit down again. “you’re singing one direction.” 

she sings story of my life, making eye contact with him the entire time and flipping him off as they all laugh. 

“reckon she does it better than you,” lou teases, elbowing harry in the ribs. “you’ve got competition.” 

harry laughs and laughs, arms folded over his stomach and his eyes never leaving her on stage. 

 

they’re still drunk when they tumble into his flat, but it’s faded into something happy and giddy. taylor’s pulling at his shirt and he’s skittering around trying to get it off and them both in at the same time. when the door slams shut, he yanks it over his head and drops it on the floor. 

“impatient,” he says and she rolls her eyes.

“don’t you want your birthday present?” 

he thinks for a second and then nods, letting her push him down the hallway into the bedroom and onto the bed. 

“now,” taylor says, looking down at his half-naked body stretched out on the bed. his toes are wriggling happily and he’s got a grin the size of new york on his face, “let’s see if we can figure out which one of these is your soulmate mark.” 

taking in the black ink sketched across his skin, she tries to remember which tattoos weren’t there yesterday. it’s incredibly difficult because he is so incredibly stupid with the tattoos, getting them randomly at a whim. there’s no rhyme or reason that she can see, and she cannot find anything new. 

“huh. do you see anything different?” 

he looks down at his body, rakes his eyes over the skin. there’s a millisecond when something like shock crosses over his face, and then he glances up to her. 

“no, i don’t. i don’t see anything.” 

“what?” 

“i don’t see a soulmark. i don’t think i have one.” 

“what?” she repeats. her brain feels like it’s ground to a stop. he surges up to kiss her instead, deep and sudden. she lets him, spreads her fingers across his shoulders and digs the tips into his skin. she keeps him there for a while, until they’re both out of breath and dizzy from it. 

she’s definitely left bruises on him, and her hips are going to be sore in the morning, but she can’t quite care. 

“you don’t have a soulmark,” she whispers with a tiny laugh. “you’re not going to leave me.” 

“i’m not going to leave you.” 

 

it’s harder, this time around. their schedules are even more opposite and they barely manage to catch each other. she goes to l.a. to write, away from new york and nashville and london. there’s something about the sunshine there that makes her able to write better, think better. 

besides, this is harry’s second home. as much as she tries, she can’t help but hope he’ll come back sometime soon. he won’t; she knows his schedule backwards and forwards and there’s barely enough time in it to sleep, let alone visit, but still she hopes. 

 

“what’s wrong with you?” harry says mildly. he’s grainy on the iphone screen; neither of their internets are strong enough to sustain a good image. 

“uhhhh,” taylor says, dragging her finger along her bedspread. “nothing.” 

“you’re acting weird.” 

“i’m not. just tired.” she is acting weird and she knows it. he’s acting weird too, shifty. “how are the boys?” 

“they’re good. um, louis is thinking about proposing, maybe.” 

“oh my god! that’s exciting!” 

“yeah, he’s over the moon about it. dunno _when_ he’s going to but it’s probably going to happen.” 

“wow. a proposal.” her and louis haven’t had the best of relationships, but it’s impossible to be unhappy at an engagement. she smiles and draws a circle on her bedspread. “and the rest?” 

“liam’s fine. him and sophia aren’t soulmates, but they haven’t found each other so they’re staying together until something happens.” 

“oh god, that sounds like it’s a bad idea.” 

“probably.” 

it sounds like the worst idea, actually, even though taylor knows far too many people who have done the same. it never ends well. 

“niall?” 

“niall is niall,” harry says, fondness creeping in. taylor can see his eyes crinkle even through the phone. “he’s fine, always is.” 

“hmm.” taylor doesn’t know what to say now. harry doesn’t seem to either; they just look at each other for a moment. finally, she can’t take it anymore.

“um, i gotta… karlie’s coming over later and i need to, um. clean.” 

“oh. oh, okay. i’ll talk to you later?” 

“yeah. bye, harry.” 

“love you.” 

she drops the phone onto her bed and flops down beside it, staring blankly up at the ceiling. they’ve gotten tired, both of them. their conversations have grown shorter and sharper, silences stretching out uncomfortably. they’ve forgotten how to talk to each other, she realizes. she know it’s true, knows it was inevitable, but it still hurts. 

 

she throws herself into her writing. it helps, a lot. every song is about harry in some way. even the ones that are definitely not about him are still about him. she can’t get him out of her head, as much as she wants to. 

they’re still together, is the thing. they haven’t broken anything off, haven’t had that conversation, but she still feels like he’s left her. it would be easier if he just left. 

she had told him that once, late at night. “if you leave me, just leave. don’t draw it out, make it like a bandaid. i can’t stand the uncertainty of it all.” 

he’d promised her he would, and here he is breaking that promise. she can’t muster up any anger about it, just tiredness. 

 

she gets a text at midnight a few days later. it’s from harry and it just says _come outside._ she does, against everything telling her not to, because she’s curious and bored and what’s the fun in following the rules all the time? 

there’s a big suv idling just past her gate. there’s just enough light to see harry’s outline; she would recognize him anywhere. he jumps when she gets in the passenger’s seat, but only a little. 

“hey,” she says because she doesn’t know what else to say. 

“hey,” he repeats, flexing his fingers on the wheel. “erm, where do you want to go?”

she gives him a look, fidgeting with the seatbelt. “you’re the one who texted me.”

“oh. right. i guess i’ll just drive for a while?” 

he takes her silence as agreement and presses on the gas, peeling out of her driveway and onto the deserted roads. he’s chewing on his lip and frowning at the windshield like he’s angry, but she has no idea what about. 

“what’s wrong?” she asks after five minutes, afraid that harry’s face will freeze like that, like in the stories. 

“hmm?” he tips his head toward her and his forehead smoothes out, just a bit. 

“what’s wrong with you? why are you here? why are you upset?” 

“i’m not upset,” he insists. she taps a finger against the door and waits a few seconds. harry’s eyebrows knit together before smoothing out as he sighs. “i’m not upset with you. it’s just been, um, a lot recently. busy and whatever. shit’s going down and i’m burned out and we had a few days’ break, so i decided to come and see you.” 

taylor knows the feeling. tour is wonderful, the best fucking feeling in the world, but it’s also immensely tiring. everyone’s tired and in your space, you don’t have any place that’s really familiar, everyone’s dictating your very mood. she _gets_ it. 

“how many days?” 

“two,” he says with a grimace. “it’s not really a break, but i changed my flights.” 

“you did that to see me?” 

“might’ve.” 

she reaches out to brush a piece of his hair out of his face and he leans into her touch, just a bit. settling her hand against his cheek, she strokes at his face. 

“i missed you,” she says quietly. he smiles-- she can feel it under her fingers-- and twists his head to kiss at her palm, lightly. 

“missed you too.” 

he catches her hand in his and twists their fingers together, settling a kiss against her wrist. it makes something ache in her chest, an ache she recognizes. as much as she hates to admit it, this feels like the beginning to an end, like the first notes in a finale. 

she could fight it, but that would make it worse. she’s learned from her past, so she she shifts in her seat and lets herself be here in this moment. 

 

they’re spread out on a blanket magically pulled from the backseat. if they hadn’t been in l.a., they would’ve been stargazing, but they’re just kind of laying on their backs and looking at the sky. 

harry has his arm draped around her shoulders and she’s up against his side, close enough to feel him breathing. 

“louis doesn’t like you,” harry says. 

“i know.” 

“he thinks you’re going to break my heart.” 

“that’s stupid. if anything, you’re going to break mine.” 

harry squeezes her for a second, shaking his head. “i could never.” 

again, the ache in her chest, but she breathes against it. “is that what you were upset about?” 

“sort of, yeah. he didn’t like that i fucked off to see you. sent me a text that explained exactly what i was doing wrong.” 

“that sounds kind.” 

“he means well. he’s just very protective,” harry says. “it comes out strangely, sometimes.” 

“makes sense,” she says around a yawn. harry shifts to smirk at her. 

“are you tired?” 

“it’s two in the morning and some of us aren’t jet lagged.” he laughs low in his chest and she feels it against her own, a soothing rumble. “sing me a song, popstar.” 

he hums something she doesn’t recognize. it’s a new song, probably. one he’s still writing. she falls asleep wondering if he’ll sing it to her when she’s awake. 

 

she flies out to see him a few weeks later, in a break in her own tour. it’s a surprise, only their manager really knows she’s coming, and she gets to the venue just as one direction are ready to go on. their concert is always a fun one, and she laughs as she watches the boys mess around on stage. 

the boys run back when they’re done, dripping with sweat and hyped up on adrenaline. harry’s the last one in and doesn’t notice taylor for a few seconds, too busy laughing at something niall said. 

liam, louis, and zayn notice her, though, with varying degrees of awkwardness. 

“harry,” zayn says and harry looks up, catching sight of her. 

“taylor!” he nearly yells, crossing the room in a couple of steps and wrapping her up in a hug. it’s mildly gross, but taylor wraps her arms around his chest anyway. “what are you doing here?” 

“i came to see you, of course.” 

he laughs and pecks her on the mouth. she turns her head at the last second, keenly aware of everyone watching. 

“you’re sweaty and gross,” she says, forcing a laugh, and he steps back. everyone else looks a little uncomfortable, louis bordering on glaring, arms folded across his chest. niall’s the only one who looks even remotely happy, him and harry. 

“i’m going to grab a shower, lads,” he announces and bounds away before anyone can make an argument otherwise. taylor wraps her arms around herself, and turns to grin at niall. “s’good to see you.” 

“you too, swift. how’s selena and justin?” 

“they’re good. still together, i think.” 

niall laughs, warm and bright. “don’t worry, i’m not trying to get with her. that was a long time ago.” it really wasn’t but niall looks like he means it, so taylor lets it slide. “what’ve you been writing lately?” 

“working on my album, actually. it’s coming along.” 

“i can’t wait to hear it.” 

“what about you?” 

“eh, a little bit. payno and tommo have done most of the writing right now, i’d reckon. they’ve got some good songs planned.” 

she turns to the two and smiles a bit at them. “that sounds amazing.” 

liam mutters a thanks, still looking uncomfortable, and louis just rolls his eyes. zayn slings an arm around louis’ neck, whispering something to him. they’re both still watching her and it makes taylor feel weird, like she’s intruding on something private. she turns back to niall but he’s wandered off to talk to some of the crew on the other side of the room. 

“do you need anything? water or…” he trails off, his cheeks still red. 

“um, no-- you don’t have to babysit me, you know. you can go do whatever you need to do and i’ll be fine.” 

“oh, no--” 

“liam. it’s seriously fine. i’ll just fuck around on my phone until harry comes back. go shower.” 

liam ruffles his hair with a hand and shrugs, stopping to say something to niall before disappearing to a different dressing room. zayn finishes whatever he’s saying and follows liam, leaving taylor alone in a room with a pissed off louis tomlinson. 

“why are you glaring at me?” she asks after a minute or so. 

“i’m not,” he says, deadpan. “this is my normal face.” 

“i know you don’t like me, but you could, like, not stare. it’s a little rude.” 

louis rolls his eyes again, barking out a laugh. “you’ve got some fucking nerve, swift,” he says, pushing past her. 

“what the hell do you mean by that?” 

he stops in his tracks and turns around. there’s a muscle twitching in his jaw and he looks more sharp than she’s ever seen him look, all angles and fury. 

“don’t pretend like you don’t know. it’s one thing to run around with someone’s soulmate behind their back. it’s another to show up and flaunt it in their face.” 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, tomlinson,” she says evenly, trying to find some semblance of understanding. louis sneers. 

“don’t play that game. it’s pathetic, it’s all pathetic.” 

“i _don’t_ ,” taylor insists. “i don’t even get what you’re saying.” 

“i’m _saying_ that snogging someone’s soulmate in front of them--” 

“harry doesn’t have a soulmate,” she says and louis’ mouth snaps closed. he frowns at her, rubbing at his cheek. 

“what do you mean? of course he has one, he’s twenty.” 

“he doesn’t. he doesn’t have a soulmark.” 

“bullshit,” louis snaps. “of course he has a mark, i’ve seen it. are you trying to fuck with me?” 

there’s something like tears building up at the back of her eyes but fuck everything if she lets louis tomlinson see her cry. 

“he told me he doesn’t have one. he’s been telling me that since february.” 

louis snorts, shaking his head. “and you believed him? fucking unreal. it’s right there in plain sight, innit? 

taylor’s head is spinning, whirling, making her feel sick. “i don’t-- where?” 

“on his arm. there’s a key.” 

she vaguely knows what he’s talking about, but harry had told her it was an old tattoo, one that she had missed. he had gotten so many in such a short amount of time that she had believed him because-- “god, i’m a fucking idiot.” 

“little bit, yeah,” louis says, sounding surprisingly less viscous. there’s a tint of sadness to his words now, like he realised what was happening. 

“who… who is his soulmate?” she asks because she can’t bear not knowing. louis’ face twists in an uncomfortable expression and he shifts his weight back.

“um. i don’t know if i should tell you, er… now.” 

“are you serious, tomlinson?” 

louis glances over his shoulder at the door, then back at her. “it’s um. it’s niall.” 

taylor very suddenly feels like she’s been plunged into cold water. everything seems blurry and muted, like her ears are full of liquid. 

“who?” 

“niall,” louis says, almost apologetically. “he’s got the matching one, um, on his hip.” 

“oh. that’s. oh,” she mumbles, blinking hard. there’s wet at the corners of her eyes but she won’t cry over a boy again, not in front of this boy. “okay.” 

“look--” he starts but he’s interrupted by someone coming into the room. taylor recognizes them; it’s liam, concern written on every inch of his body. he looks at her for a second and then turns to louis. 

“what the fuck, tommo. we weren’t supposed to tell her.” 

“she asked,” louis protests, holding up his hands. “i told her the truth.” 

“taylor--” 

she gives liam the best smile she can muster and steps around him. “i’m going to, um. i’ve got to--” racing out of the room, she tries to remember the way out of the venue. it’s a big one, one that she’s pretty sure she’s never been in, and it’s crowded and confusing. the crew around give her weird looks but no one says anything, thank god. 

she only stops when she sees an empty bathroom. locking herself inside, she makes a few hurried calls to her assistant and shoots a text off to her mother. janelle’s found a plane back to new york in two hours, she’s sending a car, it’ll be here in ten minutes, god she’s so stupid. 

at the eight minute mark, she figures it’s time to find her way out of here. slipping out she runs into someone. two someones, actually, and the worst people for her to see right now. 

“harry! niall!” she says, trying to tamp down the hysteria. the boys are standing so close together, comfortable and friendly like… like soulmates are supposed to be. “um, i’m so sorry but i forgot about something? like, back home.”

“taylor?” harry says, cautious. he takes a step forward and she matches it backwards, catching sight of niall’s concerned face over harry’s shoulder. it makes something in her chest twist until it hurts to breathe. “taylor, what’s wrong?”

“my manager called and i need to catch the first flight out,” she tells him, a tiny bit breathlessly. “i’m sorry, i was going to… i’m sorry.” 

harry’s forehead is furrowed in a deep frown and his hands are fidgeting like he wants to make her stay. she takes another step back. 

“is it an emergency? i can come with you-- niall--” 

“no!” she nearly shouts. “no, that’s fine. stay on tour, with everyone. you don’t have to, um.” niall comes up and puts a hand on harry’s shoulder. it’s a steadying gesture, taylor knows, but it still makes her feel sick. 

god. she thought she could be so lucky to find someone like her. fuck, she shouldn’t have hoped. 

“bye, harry.” 

turning on her heel, she finds her way outside and into the waiting car. her phone’s blowing up with calls and texts from harry and her mom, but she doesn’t have any energy to deal with either of them right now.

she leans her face against the window and watches the city lights zip by. 

 

curiosity gets the best of her two hours later and she finally checks her phone. she answers her mom’s first: yes, she’s fine. yes, she’s on a plane. no, she doesn’t need anything, just sleep. her mom is semi-satisfied with that. or, she realizes that taylor’s not ready to talk about this just yet, not willing to open up. taylor will process first. 

the other texts are from harry, of course they are. they range from confused to angry to panicked. 

_taylor what’s going on???_

_what’s happening??_

_are you okay?_

_just text me back please_

_we need to talk_

_louis just told me what he said and we need to talk_

_TAYLOR text me back asap_

_it’s not what you think i promise_

_louis is an idiot_

_TAYLOR CALL ME_

she reads them all, feeling weirdly calm about it. if she was honest with herself, she knew this would happen eventually. everyone finds their soulmate in the end. everyone leaves. this is not something that should shock her. 

still, even under the calm, a sadness lingers. she leans into it for a minute. she’s allowed that right now. 

 

the car picks her up from the airport quietly, no fuss. the driver doesn’t speak so she doesn’t either, just draws mindless shapes on the window and tries not to think about her phone stashed deep in her purse. 

her house feels empty. of course it does, she lives alone, but usually the solace isn’t too oppressing. she calls for her cats and waits for the jingle of their collars, sets her hip against the counter and looks at her kitchen. 

“maybe i should bake something,” she says out loud. it’s been far too long, so she pulls out the supplies and bowls, lining them up against the edge. it’s mid-march, but she’s feeling fall flavors. there’s something about the warmth of cinnamon that makes her crave it when she’s feeling down, makes her fingers itch until she bakes with it by the spoonful. 

her mind slows down as she tries to remember this particular recipe, focusing on the ingredients and nothing else. measuring out the flour, sugar, and butter, she breathes in the vanilla and sighs out in a long breath. 

meredith weaves around her feet occasionally, purring loudly at taylor being back as olivia watches from her perch across the room. soon, she starts feeling a little like herself again. 

 

the house still smells like baking when her bell for the gate goes off. she wasn’t fully asleep yet, but enough that it’s jarring, startling her from her place on the couch. she rubs at her eyes and shuffles towards the intercom. 

“who is it?” she mumbles, squinting at the clock. it’s two in the morning, far too late for any company. 

“it’s me,” harry says, his unmistakable voice sounding crackly through the speakers. shutting her eyes, taylor leans her head against the wall. “i need to talk to you.” 

“why are you here?’ 

“you wouldn’t answer your phone,” he replies after a second. “i had to, um, explain. please, taylor.” 

this isn’t going to end well. she knows that but she can’t particularly bring herself to care. she shoves her feet into shoes and grabs her keys, locking the door behind her. harry’s car is idling outside the gate and it gives her a weird sense of deja vu to see it sitting there. 

harry jumps ever so slightly when the door opens. he looks washed out in the half-light, as tired as she feels. 

“you smell like cinnamon,” he says. 

“i made cookies.” 

“oh.”

“yeah,” she says, a little lamely. harry nods and runs a hand through his hair, nervous. she tracks the movement without really meaning to, fingers back to itching. “harry, why are you here?” 

“louis wasn’t supposed to tell you any of that,” he says, still rubbing at his head. “i get why he did it, but i still yelled, properly yelled, at him. he wasn’t supposed to say anything about--” 

“about your soulmark? how niall’s your soulmate and you didn’t tell me?” 

harry’s hand falls away onto his lap and his shoulder slump, a tiny bit. “yeah. that.” 

“he was helping you.” 

“he thought he was,” he mumbles, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “yelling at you didn’t help anything. just scared you away.” 

“harry, niall’s your _soulmate_. i can understand why they wouldn’t want me there. it’s weird, and mean, and--” 

“ _taylor_.” 

she stops rambling, turns toward him. he’s chewing on his lip, lost for words, but something in his face makes her wait a moment.

“i should’ve told you this earlier, but um. i do have a soulmark and, uh, niall’s got the match. i’ve known for a while, even before it appeared. i could kind’ve tell, you know? but niall, he… he doesn’t want a soulmate either.” 

“i don’t understand,” she says after a moment’s thought. harry screws up his face and sighs. 

“we’re soulmates, but like, not in a romantic way. niall doesn’t want it, i don’t want it. i’m in love with _you._ you’re my soulmate too, in a way.” 

“i don’t-- that’s not how it _works_ , harry.” 

“who the fuck cares how it works? it’s not; niall loves me like a friend and i love you, period. so what if he’s got a stupid mark that matches a stupid mark of my own? that doesn’t mean i suddenly am in love with him, at least not more than before. god, it’s all so-- it’s so stupid.” 

“what are you saying?” 

harry turns his whole body towards her, catching one of her hands and looking at her straight in the face. it’s a little overwhelming to have all his attention on her, but she keeps her gaze steady.

“i’m saying that it’s you i want to be with. soulmarks be damned.” 

“harry-” 

“fuck it, taylor. fuck soulmates, fuck louis, fuck everything. it’s a stupid fucking system, anyway.” 

she looks at him, his face earnest and her hand still in his. his cheeks are flushed pink with emotion, his hair’s a mess from his hands, and his fingers are so hot she can feel it all over. or maybe that’s just him, that’s just how her skin reacts to his touch because god, she’s so in love with him she can barely stand it. 

she’s always found those couples who try to stay together even though they’re not soulmates stupid, but here, with harry asking, she can’t say no. something went wrong along the way with them, something got lost in biology or fate or whatever the hell it is, but this is them making it right.

“fuck it,” she says, voice breaking a tiny bit. “fuck it, yeah. god, harry.”

when he kisses her this time, it’s a tentative, gentle thing like he’s scared she’s going to run away. she’s not, not this time. besides, harry’s hands are so warm against her jaw and her hands are locked behind his neck and _fuck_ they’re really doing this. 

breaking away, she sets her forehead against his with a laugh. “you’re sure niall won’t mind?” 

harry laughs too, brushing away a strand of her hair. “positive. we’ve talked about it for so long. he doesn’t want anything to do with me.” 

“his loss,” she says, pressing a kiss to harry’s mouth. “i’m not mad about it.” 

 

it works out, somehow. louis apologizes and niall beams when harry hooks an arm around both their shoulders, pressing kisses to niall’s temple and her cheek. she leans into his side and laughs, finally happy. 

her soulmark never appears but she doesn’t mind. she found her soulmate without it, anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @bigbrotherlouis on tumblr if you ever wanna talk about harry and taylor or literally anything 1d related at all


End file.
